


Supernatural: Nemesis

by FloodFeSTeR



Series: Gods & Goddesses the Winchester Way [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Biting, Castiel Is So Done, Dark Dean Winchester, Dean Does Not Understand, Dean Has Nightmares, Dean Sings, Dean Talks Dirty, Dom Dean, Dom/sub, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Four Horsemen, Goddesses, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Intimacy, Intimidation, Light Bondage, Light Sadism, Loud Sex, Love Bites, Magical Tattoos (kind of), Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Roughness, Scary Dean Winchester, Sexual Assault, Sexual Slavery, Slow Burn, Spanking, Tattoos, Women In Power, the apocalypse sucks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-04-25 03:05:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4944379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloodFeSTeR/pseuds/FloodFeSTeR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because things go just as EndverseDean said they would and the boys never join up again, which brings about Lucifer's rise as predicted.<br/>Marceline is a girl trying to survive The End. She sells herself - body and soul - to Dean, thinking it can't be worse than being out there on her own.<br/>She discovers just how wrong she is, but also learns what a woman is capable of and destiny is a very real -- and annoying -- thing, even at the End of Days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are Non-Con triggers through out here and mentions of past abuse, but its typical and not scarring like I usually do.  
> This is a plot that has been under development for months. Updates on Fridays when chapters are finished, Saturdays at the latest :)

It was her idea, so why did she feel so utterly and completely sick to her stomach?

There weren't a lot of thing Marceline wouldn't do to survive, but she had never thrown this option out there. Not until her latest encounter with those things called Croats; there was a longer version of the name but she honestly did not care. All she cared about was getting the fuck away from them and that's where this completely insane/stupid idea came from.

She doesn't know what to expect when the heavy set fellow drags her into the rough cabin, maybe some pillows and beads, a guy lounging on a throne made of burgundy pillows while two half naked women fan him and feed him grapes or what have you. Instead of all that, she gets the distinct slap of musk, alcohol and the brightest pair of green eyes she's ever seen - and they were glaring at her.

"Bad idea," Marceline repeated lowly to herself, stiff when the man pushed her forward, still gripping her arm tight; the laceration on her upper right thigh throbbed out a small trickle of blood and she winced. "Bad fucking idea," she bowed her head a little.

"And just what the fuck is this," the green eyed man growled in a deep voice, making dread further coil in her belly.

"She asked to be brought to you," the man holding her said in a bored tone and dumped her unceremoniously at the man's feet.

"Did she now," the green eyed man purred (sweet Jesus) as he stepped around the table he had been hovering over.

"Please. . ." Marceline whimpered.

The man smirked. "Please what, poppet," he asked.

Marceline trembled as she looked up at him. "Please keep me safe. . .sir."

He arched an eyebrow at her, eyes flickering above her head, jerking his chin at the big man behind her. Marceline trembled as she looked back, watching the door thump shut before she shrieked at being hoisted up by the back of her shorts like a child. She flailed for a moment but was once more dropped - this time, onto a musty old couch in the corner of what was supposed to be the living room. She scrambled into a seated position, eyes focused on the brute that stalked off into the kitchen, coming back with a tall bottle of clear liquid; when the top was screwed off, she was hit with the burning scent of drinking alcohol, undefined.

He grabbed her ankle and jerked it out, stretching her leg over his lap. "Sit still," he snapped when she tried to pull her leg back.

She bit her tongue when he poured the alcohol over her cut, every instinct in her saying 'scream!' where she just sat there. He took a swig of the drink and set it down on the floor, keeping her leg on his lap as it burned.

"You're real stupid, kid," he chuckled and her eyes widened. "Got a name?"

She didn't make eye contact, felt she couldn't. "Marceline," damn the hitch in her voice.

"Dean," she did look at his face then. "So, pray tell why you asked to be brought to me? Never had that happen before, so color me curious."

Marceline swallowed and slowly raised her eyes to meet his. "I'm here to offer myself to you."

Dean chuckled and stroked his hand up her undamaged shin. "You're gonna have to be a little bit more specific poppet," he muttered.

"I-I need to be safe," Marceline started. "And, I'm sure you have needs that need attending to."

He arched an eyebrow at her and Marceline squeaked when he was suddenly so close. "Today is just a day for firsts I suppose," he grumbles and pulled away from her, grabbing the clear bottle and taking another mouthful before he capped it. "So, what? I fuck you whenever and however I want and so long as you stay alive, its cool?"

Marceline swallowed as he slammed the fridge closed, watching him approach slowly. "That's the gyst," she mumbled. "I can't make it out there on my own anymore and I . . . ."

Dean gave her a look and she stopped talking. "I don't really care why you're here," he drawled. "But, you've given me quite the proposal."

Marceline swallowed nervously, brushing some hair out of her eyes. "I'm good. I promise."

He looked like he wanted to laugh as he perched on the edge of the table in front of the couch, hovering over her. "Oh really now," she nodded. "And how can I be so sure? What if you're a lousy fuck, hmm," was that amusement in his eyes?

"Y-You, I mean I -" Marceline swallowed nervously. "If I. . .I guess you can do what you want with me," her stomach was tightening in dread; again, bad idea.

"Anything," Dean questioned, raising an eyebrow at her.

Marceline closed her eyes and sighed. "Yes, anything," she murmured demurely.

Dean chuckled darkly. "Oh, honey, you have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

Marceline shuddered and wrapped her arms around her middle. "Better than being dead," she said.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "You might think different in a few days," he said gruffly and grabbed her chin, jerking her head up. "I can be a very dangerous man."

Marceline swallowed and felt fear snake down her spine. "I'm giving myself to you," she said. "What I want and feel no longer matter," just like she practiced.

There goes that eyebrow as he examines her, tilting her head side-to-side. She involuntarily jerked back as he pulled his hand away. Marceline ducked her head as he grunted, shaking her head softly. He was trying to scare her and he was succeeding but she couldn't go out there anymore, she just couldn't. And sure, she could have just asked to join this group but the past couple of time she had tried with other groups, they either there weren't buying what she was selling or they tried to kill her. Sex rules, even in the apocalypse and it was her last resort. . .

"Fine," Dean stated and Marceline actually felt a flicker of hope ignite in her chest. "I'll keep you in my room. Can't have anyone else taking what's mine, now can I," he asked, patting her head in a patronizing manner.

Marceline shook her head. "No, sir," she replied softly.

He chuckled and, despite his crass attitude, helped her up gently from the couch. "You don't leave," he paused as she limped up the stairs. "Ever, unless I say something, got it," she nodded meekly. "Now, I'm going on a run and you're gonna sit your pretty little ass right here."

Marceline gave a slight 'oomph' as he let her go at the edge of a large bed with a scratchy green blanket crumpled on it. She stretched a hand out, trying to remember the last time she had seen a bed that wasn't destroyed in some manner. She looked up when he kicked open a door, revealing a bathroom.

"You can shower if you want," he muttered and then looked at her again. "Actually on second thought, shower," Marceline nodded meekly, wrinkling her nose at her own disheveled appearance. Dean nodded before picking up his running clothes. "Shower. Stay put," he ordered.

"Yes sir," she murmured, quirking her lips in the corner when he gave her a faded black shirt.

At his grunt, she shuffled out of the room, breathing a small sigh of relief on the other side of the door. She locked it and examined the tiny room, almost whimpering when the shower worked properly; no hot water, but that was to be expected. She stretched as she stripped herself of her clothes and stared at her reflection, frowning at her protruding ribs and the circles beneath her eyes. She looked like Hell and that was a mild understatement.

"He won't keep me long," she murmured, stepping under the showerhead.

At least that was what she told herself as she washed the outside world from her half-starved body. The water, cold as it was, felt good as it ran through her hair, followed by her fingers and a bar of soap that smelt strongly of mint. She hadn't used an actual shower in so long, she had been restricted to the river or boiling water back when she actually had people to follow around. But they were gone and she was left alone, to each had its reasoning and she was sick thinking of it.

"The things people do to survive," Marceline muttered to herself, turning to let the water hit her face.

* * *

Its dark when she's woken up and Marceline's first reaction is to tense up.

She'd spent enough time on the outside to have her senses alert her in sleep whenever there was even the slightest suspicion that there was either a Croat or men nearby; she'd never had a problem with women out there. She sat up, hair slightly unkempt and knotted from falling asleep with it wet. She didn't want to get out of the lumpy bed - even though it really was uncomfortable - but she had to know, and almost felt safe with the familiar voice of Dean downstairs.

"Look, if she has something that will kill me, I will make sure I kill you before I go."

There was a sigh from the other male voice downstairs. "Dean, I am not a doctor."

"Just use your damn angel-sniffing thing on her, okay," Dean groaned. "I don't even want her but lets be careful okay," there was a pause. "Plus, she looks a little sickly to me. Skin and bones."

"It could be simple malnourishment," the second voice sighed. "But I will do this for you. She is up in your bed, hmm?"

Whoops.

Marceline cringed and tip toed while Dean barked at the other man. She slid back into the bed, not entirely bothered with pretending she was asleep; they'd surely know she was awake, if they didn't already. There was light coming up from the stairs, but the figure that entered was still nothing but a silhouette until they lit the oil lamp on the bedside. She must have looked pretty pathetic, curled up and clenching the covers like a child as she stared up at this mystery man.

He was shorter than Dean, not by much and he wasn't as built but he was still slightly intimidating. He had the beginnings of stubble on his jaw and his eyes were the brightest blue she had ever seen. He was sort of hunched in on himself and was near filthy, but that didn't really matter these days.

"Marceline," she prayed Dean had told him her name, she had a sick feeling that he just already knew it. "I am Castiel, an angel of the Lord."

Her lips snapped to pursed. "An angel," she whispered in a questioning tone and he nodded. "I thought they. . .I thought they left us."

He gestured to himself. "Obviously not all of them," he gave her a weak smile and then waved a hand over her. "I need you to uncover yourself, please."

"Why?"

"Dean wants me to assure that you are disease free for. . .your offer," it looked as painful for him to say as her to offer.

"Oh," she murmured and then took a steadying breath, kicking the blanket down a little. "How. . .?"

He cleared his throat and shuffled awkwardly in place. "If you would please sit up and face me. . ."

He wasn't getting specific, so this was going to be pretty uncomfortable. Marceline sighed lowly and did as he instructed, her toes dangling several inches off of the floor. Castiel visibly ground the teeth on the left side of his jaw and reached a steady hand out, grasping the right side of her throat and bringing his other hand up to gently graze over her skin. He hummed to himself while Marceline sat stock-still, her breath hitching when he leaned in and inhaled against her. Her eyes flickered to Dean, who entered the room with critical eyes. He watched with those stern, green orbs as Castiel moved in an eerie motion down her torso, over her thighs. They both acted like this wasn't completely creepy on so many levels, and that made her unease continue to tighten; winding up like a toy.

The angel hummed as he straightened himself, Marceline releasing a sigh of immense relief as she loosened her stature; the coil remained tight in her belly. She looked up as Dean and Castiel whispered to each other and then Dean waved an arm at the man, who gave Marceline a fleeting look before he disappeared down the stairs. Her eyes remained fixated on the imposing figure examining her more thoroughly than whatever Castiel had done to her; what the Hell was that, anyway?

"Take your clothes off."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the lovely little *bitch* that seems to be frequently stalking me on here as well as FanFiction.net, please go fall into the fiery pits of Hell.

Marceline blinked slowly at Dean, who remained focused on her; like she expected him to do anything else. "Wh-What?"

He took a step closer and she jumped. "I said take your clothes off," he snapped. "Now!"

Marceline trembled once and swallowed, standing slowly; her legs threatened to give out beneath her. Dean stared at her in that intense way, something else in those green irises that made her stomach quake. She swallowed and crossed her arms, gripping the edges of the t shirt he had given her. It smells like him, deep and musky on the edges and she knows he finds amusement that her skin now smells like him. When she has the shirt over her head, she is startled to find him suddenly very much closer to her; how had she not heard him? She drops the shirt on the bed and her fingers hesitate around the elastic of the boy shorts she had been wearing beneath her pants.

"Drop. them," Dean hissed, his eyes darker now.

Marceline licked her lips, swallowed and figured this was what she had offered him. Her whole self, body and soul it seemed, so she had to do what he wanted her to do.

She hooked her thumbs into the waist band, looking pointedly at his chest as they fell to her ankles. She stepped out of them, which brought her closer to him somehow; she could smell the tang of blood somewhere on him. Her eyes flickered up to him, startled when he roughly grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. A hand clamped down on the back of her neck and pressed her chest into the mattress, forcing the stale scent of the blankets into her nose. She squirmed but didn't fight too hard, accepting whatever he was going to do to her. Her eyes squeezed tight, tears darkening the blanket beneath her.

"Inked up," he murmured and bumps broke out over her skin as he stroked a finger down her spine. "Cas was right. . ." He released her throat but she stayed down at his growl. "Who did this to you?"

Marceline quivered, fingers clenching at the blanket. "I don't know who they were," she whispered. "They didn't speak English and they held me down. . .killed my first group. They tattooed me and left."

He hummed and his hand went flat, running over the swollen, black ink. There was a long pillar that ran from the crack of her ass and into her hair, several spouts and swirls branching out over the back of her ribs and shoulder blades. It looked like a tribal tattoo, but Dean could make out the demonic symbols and seals in the random patterns.

Good job, even though it was a tad bothersome.

But Cas had assured him she had no outer ties, that there were no powers linked to her body or anything like that.

Still, she was disease free so he felt confident in doing what he wanted now. She gasped and her entire body tensed when he stroked his fingers up through her sex. His hot breath rustled through her hair and over her right shoulder when he groaned, appreciative of the wetness already stirring. Marceline whimpered, feeling slightly smothered by his weight pressing down and over her back, his hand still around her throat and flexing in tightness. He was so fucking big, eclipsing her tiny form easily; he didn't have to try to intimidate someone, she was sure it just came natural to him. Marceline bit down hard on her lip as his fingers probed her, bringing arousal to pool deep in her belly. She had figured he would just throw her down, fuck her and run. . .but he was taking his time with this kind of shame.

He nipped at her throat, pulling another gasp from her lips. "You're one fine piece of ass, I gotta say," her back arched when his tongue trailed down her spine. "And if you're any good in the sack, I don't know, I might not let you out this bedroom," she shivered as he nipped at the right globe of her ass. "Ever."

Marceline let out a sharp cry when his tongue invaded her, the thumb of his right hand searching for her clit. Her legs trembled, trying to stay up where all she wanted to do was collapse. His teeth scraped against her lips heavily, giving her nerves mixed signals, dancing between pleasure, shock and distress. His thumb teased her clit from its hood, his tongue finding it immediately afterwards and lavishing it. He groaned into her pussy, which made her moan for some reason; she squeaked when he eased a long finger into her, hooking it downwards and finding her g-spot immediately.

Marceline never thought she would derive pleasure from anything like this, giving herself to someone she didn't love, didn't know. But he was kind of washing that concept and fear down the drain with the expert flick of his tongue. Very rarely had she ever had someone go down on her without some begging or coaxing. But he groaned and swiveled, making sure not a single part of her pussy was left untouched.

"Unhfft," she panted, rocking back against his hand and his mouth when he introduced a second finger. " _Ah!_ "

His tongue pulled from her wet sex, to which she whined at, but then yelped when he delivered a harsh smack to her ass. The flesh jiggled and his fingers continued to stroke in and out of her, banging harshly against her g-spot. She trembled and rocked back against his hand again but received another slap that echoed around the room and made her eyes sting with tears.

"You don't get to move," he snapped. "You don't fucking move and I'm gonna eat your pussy so perfectly you'll let the whole camp know who you belong to."

Marceline trembled and held herself still, moaning loudly when his teeth returned to her clit, pulling it between his lips and suckling. She had to tighten her hands in the blanket to ground herself, keep from bucking back into his mouth. She didn't want him to hit her again, her ass was still stinging but the way his tongue moved and his fingers stroked into her. . .

"Ah!" She cried out, pent up frustration bursting in her belly.

Dean groaned against her, inhaling the musk of her, tasting soft spurts of slick on his tongue. He hadn't had a clean pussy in awhile, one that wasn't nearly passed around the entire camp; this bitch was tight as fuck, she had to be nearly a virgin. The thought stirred his cock against the zipper of his jeans, he had to reach back with his free hand to adjust himself while he licked his fingers clean. Her eyes were hooded as she looked back at him, eyes slightly widening when he loudly sucked her juices off of his fingers.

"Roll over," he ordered, pushing himself up onto his feet instead of one knee-ing it anymore.

Her fingers flexed against the blanket again but she didn't hesitate, her brow furrowed in worry as she rolled over. Dean grabbed her hips, pushing her further up the bed with a squeak from her lips; her skin trembled beneath his touch. Her eyes focused on him as he unclasped his thigh holster, setting it and the gun on the nightstand. He shrugged out of his jacket and then pulled his shirt over his head, surprising her by being on her immediately. His skin was hot against hers, delightfully pliable under her hands, which ran down his chest and stomach, trembling as she found his belt buckle; could she do that?

He answered for her, flicking off the end with one hand and jerking the belt off. It clattered somewhere onto the floor and Marceline jumped, eyes rolling around the ceiling as he left heated, red teeth marks under her jaw and down her throat. There was pleasure and there was pain, but there was also so much hesitation, so much want for this not to happen. Marceline was always a proud woman and was very conservative but. . .but she couldn't go out there again. So, she snaked a hand past the waist band of his jeans, their breath hitching at the same time when her shaking fingers wrapped around his hard shaft.

"God damn," he groaned, his teeth digging into her shoulder. "Let go," he growled.

She did, jerking back with relief, her shoulders rising up to her ears when he raised above her. His eyes were hooded this time, chest heaving with anticipation as he kicked off his jeans, his briefs. Her face took a look of fear but he didn't stop, didn't hesitate, he crowded her again, finally attaching his lips to hers. His tongue danced against her bottom lip and she parted, groaning when his tongue massaged hers, brushing briefly against her teeth. He reached up to palm one of her breasts, teeth tugging at her bottom lip; she cringed and arched into his hand.

He pulled away from her again, moving his hand down to grab her hips, angling them however he wanted to. Marceline gripped the sheets when he rocked against her, the tip of him spreading her open on contact; she was scared. She wasn't a virgin, but she wasn't necessarily experienced and he was the biggest she had ever been with.

"A-Ah!" She closed her eyes and arched up in his hand, lips forming a perfect O as he filled her in one stroke.

His fingers dug into her hip and he rolled his head on his shoulders, moving his hand from her hip to her leg. He dug into the back of her knee and hooked her leg around his hip, making her grunt with the stretch in her thigh.

Marceline gasped and rolled her eyes, lips popping as he started to thrust into her harshly. His hips slammed into hers, surely bruising the skin he abused by the action. He shadowed her, leaning over her and grabbing her right hand, his fingers threading around hers. Her brain registered it enough to look up at him, be slightly confused why he would do something so. . .intimate with her, but then a new orgasm reared its head and she could care less. Her hand gripped his tightly and she bucked up against him, making him grin smugly.

"Say my name baby girl," he panted, his hips never faltering; in fact, his thrusts seemed to become stronger. "Come on - say it!"

She shook her head once, biting her bottom lip before another moan burst from her lips. "Dean!" She cried as another orgasm began to stir in her belly. "Dean! Dean!"

He wanted them to hear, know that this tight, sweet little piece was his. She had his bite marks, the bruises and the raw throat in case they didn't hear her, but he seriously doubted not one soul didn't hear the set of lungs on that woman.

Her pussy clenched around him, drawing out a loud groan from his lips, tingles shooting up his spine. He was close to cumming and this was what, her third? She wasn't really this sex goddess but she was tight and smelt heavenly, was willing to do just what he wanted - a keeper. And her orgasm has her squeezing his cock like a vice, he wouldn't give this up.

His hand tightened painfully in her as he hunched over her, his hips becoming sporadic, his grunts drawing into long moans. He stroked his other hand up her side, fingers trembling around her protruding ribs. She'd fill out so beautifully, he'd make sure of that. . .after he fucked her brains out. She cried out again and her chest arched, his name flying through her lips among a myriad of curses and babblings. It stroked his ego, drew him closer and closer to the edge until he tipped at her walls clenching him. She milked his cock as he came inside of her, sending warmth up through her pelvis and making her wiggle her hips.

She panted and moaned softly in his ear, tilting her head away from his as he buried his face into her hair. Her hand slackened around his and she curled her lips inwards, her chest rubbing against his as she took her breaths.

"Well, you weren't wrong," he chuckled into her ear.

"A-About what, sir," she cringed at her stutter.

He twisted his head towards her and she locked eyes with him, feeling that feeling again, the one that was far too intimate for the situation, the look on his eyes.

"You're good."

* * *

 

Before?. . .before, Marceline would wake up outside on cold grass, or stuffed against cold soil under a broken down car, tucked away in a trunk - anywhere to keep from being seen. Anywhere the Croats or men didn't find her, couldn't. She had gotten so used to that, so used to waking up with startled breath or a racing heart.

And yet, she's never been as scared on waking as when she wakes up in Dean's arms.

To anyone else, it'd be picturesque.

The sun is barely up and a mist has settled outside the windows, birds are chirping and fluttering just outside the window, signaling their leave South for Winter. The room smells faintly of sex still, but she can also smell the pine from the trees outside, the distinct smell of the groaning wood around them. To anyone else, feeling those strong arms around them, lying on a warm, sticky chest and listening to a lovers heart beat - it might be romantic.

But Dean isn't a simple lover, she belongs to him now, he is inside of her because she sold out for comfort, for protection.

She wakes up before he does, sprawled over his chest and her skin sticking to his. His hold around her is a strange comfort, because she doesn't want to be here, but the way he made her feel last night. . .maybe giving herself up to him wouldn't be too bad. He hadn't just fucked her like she expected, he had given her, her own pleasure. Of course, he had spanked her when she did what he didn't like - and she didn't like that. She wiggled her hips a little, biting her lip at the discomfort in her groin and the stinging of what had to be bruises on her ass.

"Don't do that," he grumbled in a sleep-thick voice.

Marceline jumped and then squeaked when he let her go, her limp little body rolling off to the side while he stumbled out of bed. She pushed herself up on one elbow, hair falling in her face as she watched him walk off into the bathroom; she arched an eyebrow, _okay, so he had a nice ass too_. She shook her head and wiggled out of bed, groaning and hunching over slightly at her sore muscles.

Everything was sticky and sore, she had scratches and bruises all across where she could see; she could feel them on her neck, reached up and found raw skin where his teeth had sunk in on her shoulder. He'd made sure to mark her up, made sure she screamed his name, made sure -

Oh God, how could she ever show her face to these people if Dean ever let her out?

"Good," she jumped and looked back at Dean over her shoulder, saw him smirking. "Knew I'd left some good marks. . .sorry about your ass though, I wanted to chew on that a little more."

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"Oh no no," he crossed the room where she stayed still, the urge to go slack against him strong when he wrapped his arms around her from behind. "It was my pleasure," he began to pick at her throat again with his teeth. "I'll be easier next time. . but I won't smack ya again until those bruises are all healed up."

"Th-Thank you," she murmured, biting her lip as she leans back into him.

He sways a little, which further confuses her but she kind of enjoys it. Until there's a knock at the door, which pulls a growl from him and makes her tense up. He lets her go and Marceline is startled when he tosses the black t shirt she had been wearing last night at her. She tugs it on while he buttons his pants, shrugging down the steps with Marceline behind him. She brushed her dark hair back roughly with her fingers while he opened the door, revealing a small man with a full beard flustering over a clipboard, a heavy looking duffel draped over one shoulder.

"I uh, I got the stuff you wanted," the man looked past Dean to Marceline, who felt extremely self conscious but her face read annoyance. "Well, not all of it. We don't have another gun to spare yet."

"Fine," Dean grumbled as he snatched the bag off of the man, looking back abruptly, startling Marceline. "Meet Chuck, Prophet of God and supply manager."

Marceline let her eyes flicker back to this Chuck, who looks like he's begging her to acknowledge him. She's never had someone look at her like that, it makes her queasy. Marceline looks away, which makes Dean chuckle and Chuck deflates a little. She waits for the door to shut before she looks up again, watching Dean pass her and toss the duffel bag onto the table. It creaks under the new wait and shakes on its legs, but stills after a moment. She watches Dean unzip it and almost moans at the sight of clothes, all for a woman. He tosses them to the side of the back and pulls out a thigh holster, a big trench knife and other things she doesn't pay attention to.

"Can I. . ." Marceline cleared her throat. "Can I change?"

He shook his head and held up a pistol, checking the full clip before setting it to the side. "Gonna shower with me first," his eyes flickered to her from under his brow. "Cold waters a bitch. . .mine as well use a little body heat and I wanna fuck you before the others and I go out on our run today."

She nodded slowly, rubbing her throat. "And I stay in here. . ."

He slammed a hand down on the table and Marceline yelped, jumping back a few steps. "No fucking shit," Dean snarled, stalking towards her until she was pressed against the wall. "You are mine, you stay where I tell you to, you don't get to leave this fucking cabin until every single person and the birds in the fucking trees know you're mine."

Marceline whimpered as he braces both hands on either side of her, successfully pinning her quivering frame against the wall. He was so much bigger than she was, so much more intimidating and he knew it, knew how to use it to where it sent so many different sensations through her body.

"So, here's what's gonna happen now," he said lowly, leaning his face closer to hers. "You're gonna let me me fuck you in the shower," he stroked a hand through her hair, let it tickle down her spine. "And when that's over, you're gonna sit that pretty ass of yours in this house," she bucked into him, trying to escape the firm hand that pawed at bruises that didn't appreciate the attention. "You're not gonna wear any clothes. . .not gonna wear a sheet. . .just sit here naked, and wait for me to get back."

"B-But," Marceline tried and then bit her lip. "Yes sir," she mumbled at last.

She squeaked when he smacked her ass, making her bite her lip again but this time in minor pain.

"Good girl," he murmured. "Now come on, I'm running late."


	3. Chapter 3

She takes no chances and does as he demands, even after she watches the caravan ship out of the camp from the upstairs window.

Marceline licks her lips slowly and then looks back at the bed, the open bathroom door and the silence around her. She trembles once and rubs her arms thoroughly up and down her upper arms, wet hair clinging to her shoulder blades. She doesn't know what to do with herself, doesn't know if she should. . .do something in the first place. Should she sleep? Should she eat? Should she do some picking around like her brain begs but also knows better than to do? Marceline gives the blanket on the bed a longing glance but passes it, holding her arms over her chest as she descends the steps to the living room.

First order of business - lock the door.

She feels only a small margin of comfort when that is done, looking around the room with a look of loss on her face. He hadn't said anything but to sit here. . .naked, and certainly hadn't told her how long he would be gone.

So she definitely wasn't gonna risk covering herself.

Marceline sighed and walked into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and frowning at the only thing inside - alcohol. No food in sight, so she opened the cabinets and found them clean and empty.

"Really," she shook her head. "This is ridiculous. . ."

What did he do for food - whatever?

Marceline just shook her head and shuffled into the living room, eyes roaming over the table draped over with maps and the duffel of clothes he had left behind. She chewed on her lip a little, reaching onto the bag and she began to pull out the clothes. It wasn't much, but they all appeared like they would fit her okay, whenever he decided to let her out them on; the jeans were kind of small though. She folded the clothes neatly and put it back into the bag, carrying that gingerly upstairs and putting it beside the bed.

Marceline sighed yet again, looking around the room in a decidedly bored manner before she decided to open the top drawer of the bedside table. There were bullets scattered inside, some spent and some still heavy in her hands. There were tightly folded maps and an old wallet filled with money and cards; his? She pushed those aside, cocking her head slightly when she found the photo at the bottom of the drawer, close to the back and sealed with a money clip to a old, ragged square of tan fabric.

She kept the photo and fabric together as she lifted them out of the drawer, staring at the picture and the boy in it, the couple smiling around him. Dean and his parents? He didn't seem the type for sentimentality, and what was with the dingy, worn piece of fabric it was clipped to?

Marceline jumped when there was a rattle of the door handle downstairs and then a rough knock. Her heart leapt into her throat and she dropped the photo back into the drawer, slamming it closed before she went to run downstairs - but she stopped at the top of the steps. She was naked, she couldn't answer the door like. . .she sighed and grabbed the sheet from the bed, wrapping it tightly around her before she walked downstairs.

She brushed aside the curtain over the window, swallowing thickly when she saw the angel - Castiel - standing outside, a gun slung over his shoulder. She unlocked the door, cheeks hot as she shuffled back to let him in, clenching the sheet tight around her.

"Hello, Marceline," Castiel said in that gruff voice, boots thumping on the floor. He looked back at her as she shut the door softly, eyes wide on him. "Oh, I did not realize -"

"He ordered me to not cover myself until he got back," she whispered, keeping herself close to the door. "But. . .well, I couldn't uh. . ."

"Yes, yes," Castiel nodded and Marceline breathed a small, shaky sigh. "I came to apologize to you," she looked up at him in curiosity. "For what you have to go through because of our failings," he shook his head. "And for Dean's treatment, he was not always so. . .rough around the edges, but he seemed marginally kinder when he left for the city."

She wouldn't even entertain the thought of it having to do with her.

"That's not only why you came over here," he arched an eyebrow at her. "You've been. . .staring at me so intensely since you came in, there's something you want to see."

He didn't say anything for a long time, fingers flexing around the strap of his gun. What was hs going to try? Did he want to fuck her while Dean was gone? Did he want to just stare at her like that?

"Your tattoos," she grew a look of suspicion and tightened her fingers in the knot over her chest. "There is something about them that gives me suspicions. You do not know where you got them?"

"From some men that slaughtered the camp I was staying in," she said slowly. "They killed everyone and tattooed me, and left. That's it."

Castiel hummed and took a soft step towards her, which made Marceline jump. The tattoos weren't her most proud blemish, they now pit an ominous feeling in her gut. With the interest of an angel, they couldn't mean anything good.

"I apologize if I have upset you," Marceline looked up at Castiel, who had a genuinely apologetic look on his face. "It was not my intention you have to understand."

Marceline let her lips twitch towards a smile before she swallowed thickly and shook her head. "Its okay," she mumbled. "Its impossible for anything else to really upset me after. . .well, I don't have to spell it out, do I?"

Castiel shook his head and grimaced. "Please, do not," he paused. "You are hungry," he cocked his head. Marceline gave him a strange look and Castiel gestured to the tiny kitchen area. "You did not eat last night and there is no food in here," he reached into the heavy coat on his shoulders, producing a brown plastic bag. "You must be hungry, especially after. . ."

He didn't finish his sentence and Marceline felt her skin heat up, reaching out and stretching the raw bite on her throat when she grabbed the bag from Castiel's hand. It wasn't anything particularly special, some definitely stale trail mix but her stomach snarled in response to the sight of granola and raisins rolling inside. She looked up at Castiel and gave him a broad smile, bobbing her head once.

"Thank you, Castiel," she mumbled. "All he has is alcohol. . ." She cut herself off. "Thank you. Um. . .can I ask you a question?"

Castiel arched an eyebrow and waved a hand at her. "By all means."

Marceline reached up and pushed a strand of hair out of her lashes. "Could I have just. . .walked up here and asked to join," she swallowed thickly.

Castiel didn't say anything for a long time, lips slightly pursed before he sighed and shook his head. "To be honest. . .no, we are running low on food as it is. . .but Dean accepted the offer you gave him anyway. A handful of our people are not happy about the arrangement, though I am sure for the females that is for a different reason," he paused. "So, in short, no. You would have been turned away at the gate."

Marceline nodded softly and shifted her weight. "I figured as much," she sighed. "Every other time I've tried to join a new group. . .they either try to take what I gave Dean or they try to kill me. I was hunted for three days by cannibals. . .it didn't take humans long to turn into animals."

She remembered the nights she spent hiding under cars, in building and closets, once in the muck beneath an old mobile home. She'd heard men raping a young girl in there and had hated herself ever since for letting it happen - but there was no way she would have been able to do a damn thing, and she knew that. They would have given her the same treatment and she'd be dead; she definitely preferred Dean and his commands to the Hell she had endured on her own.

"You are. . .marginally safe now, Marceline," she blinked, focusing on Castiel again, who was offering her a soft smile through that scruffy beard. "Dean may seem a bit cruel most of the time, but he will not let harm come to you if there is a choice. We look out for our own around here, know that."

Marceline gave him another smile. "I believe you, Castiel," she nodded. "I think I'm going to sleep now. . .after I eat," she wagged the trail mix in the air as she reached for the doorknob. "After I eat some of this. I'm starved."

Castiel chuckled and stepped onto the threshold of the door, giving her a small smile. "It'll get better, Marceline."

She furrowed her brow slightly at him, ready to speak but he was walking away; he whistled lightly as he went. Marceline hesitated again and shut the door softly, locking it again as she shuffled towards the stairs.

She sat on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair back and folding a leg beneath her. The blanket shrugged down around her as she tore open the trail mix and Marceline sighed, grabbing a handful. It was stale, as she thought it would be, but it tasted divine on her tongue.

She looked over at the crumpled sheets, the flakes of things that made her cheeks heat and her thighs tingle; her ass was still sore where she sat.

The room still smelt like them, their coupling and his distinct musk; she had no smell, only smelt like him now.

Marceline releases a heavy sigh and crumpled the edge of the bag, setting it on the rickety side table before she stretched out on the bed. She unfolded the blanket from her skin, trembling slightly as she bore herself to no eyes. This was what she had signed up for basically, to do as he commanded, when he commanded. . .she'd made herself a piece of meat, a dog that showed its belly.

* * *

He's pissed off because the door was locked.

But the sight of her on the bed makes it kind of worth it.

He'd never had a girl offer herself to him like she had, body and soul it seemed; he hadn't actually expected her to do what he said, he'd been gone hours. Sure, there were plenty of women around the camp, but he never did like the sloppy seconds of men he had just come back from a run with, it was just too close to home. And yeah, they were low on rations and other supplies - and he was pretty sure he couldn't use that tight fucking pussy of her's as a dog in the fight - but he wasn't gonna let this little one go.

He kind of liked her and her stupid idea of offering herself, it was so apocalypse - oh wait, it _was_ the apocalypse.

Dean unclipped his thigh holster and noisily let the gun clatter against the side table; she barely stirred, only grumbled softly and rolled onto her side. He chuckled and, once he was unclothed, he moved to the foot of the bed and reached for her hips. His eyes watched her face scrunch up in half-awareness as he turned her onto her back, pulling her to the edge and pushing her thighs over his shoulders.

"Heavy fucking sleeper," he murmured when she only hummed in her sleep.

She sighed when his tongue drug up between her folds, a sound that pulled something from him, but he ignored that and twisted his head, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh. He was never one to savagely eat a girl out, not unless she asked for it. He preferred to trade and drag it out as long as possible, and the tactic seemed to be working even if she was unconscious. She sighed and cooed, chest heaving slightly with rapidly ragged breath as he teased the tip of her clit with his tongue.

She grunted when he began to insert a finger slowly into her, the muscles of her stomach rolling and tightening when he added a second. Her lips popped open and he smirked when he saw her eyes fluttering open, a moan sliding through her lips. She crooked an elbow and looked down at him, the expression on her face absolutely delightful to him before she tossed her head back and proceeded to quiver into the sheets and her hips rolled up against his mouth.

"Such a good girl," he murmured against her now dripping sex, his fingers moving in and out of her; the sight was lewd and dirty and she couldn't help but look down at him again. "Listened to me, didn't you? Are you a good girl?"

She moaned and rocked her head softly in the pillows, her cheeks on fire; embarrassment, fear, arousal - so hard to tell from this angle. He cocked his head when she bucked her hips up to his hand and proceeded to pull his fingers from her.

Which she didn't like, at all.

She whined low in her throat and fisted her hands into the sheets, giving him a desperate look. He hummed and licked the sheen from his fingers while she watched and panted, his eyes never leaving hers.

He always did love control of any kind.

"Were you a good girl today," he murmured and leaned closer to her, his breath wafting teasingly over her pussy and making her groan. "I gotta know because. . .well, good girls get orgasms, bad girls get spankings."

She tensed up and he grinned boldly up from between her thighs; only he could look so evil with shiny lips. Marceline licked her own and her breath hitched when he lazily ran his tongue a hairs breath away from her lips, up and down once before he pulled back again.

"I-I was a good girl," she whispered, cheeks and chest flushed beautifully.

Dean cocked his head, tilting his ear towards her. "I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you."

Marceline swallowed thickly. "I was a good girl, sir," her voice shook at a regular volume and he chuckled. She gasped when he buried his tongue inside of her again and her head hit the bed with a soft pat. "O-Oh!" She cooed and rolled her hips up, jumping when he braced his hands against them.

Dean groaned when her thighs rubbed against the sides of his head, his eyes closing as he ran his tongue flat up and over her clit, making her jerk and cry out. He teased a finger against her wet heat, inhaling her smell in an animal-like way and not ashamed about it one bit. She smelt divine, it made his cock twitch and he groaned into her, biting down roughly on her sensitive lips.

"Ah!" Marceline gasped and arched, trying to pull her self from his teeth but he only bit harder. "D-Dean please!"

His eyes rolled around, flickering up past her breasts and to her begging eyes that nearly set him off again. But he released her pretty little pussy from his bite and Marceline trembled, turning into a moaning heap as he lavished her with that excellent and efficient tongue of his.

He thrust a second finger into her, making Marceline groan and dig her fingers into his hair, pull him tighter against her, like he planned on going somewhere.

His fingers snapped against her walls in a scissoring motion, causing quick little jolts of discomfort but also pleasure. Marceline rolled her hips and moaned, panting and clenching his hair, the bed sheets, hair pulling taught when she tossed her head back; what a fucking way to wake up. Her thighs were assaulted by his stubbled jaw but she didn't care and he didn't seem to care either when her thighs made a noose around his head.

"Dean!" She gasped and he felt her walls constricting around his fingers. "D-Dean! Oh fuck!" Her eyes fluttered closed and she trembled, fingers flexing through his hair.

Dean basically purred as he pulled his fingers from her limp little body, tongue striking up and down and around the pearly digits as he climbed up to her chest.

"Taste so God dammed good," he murmured and palmed her breast, receiving an airy moan; it was weak. "I've been waiting to get back in here," he reached down and roughly grabbed her sex, which made her jumped and whine; she was too weak to open her eyes. "All damm day."

"Dean," fuck didn't he like hearing her as his name, especially in that husky drawl. "Dean please. . ."

"Please what," he murmured and stroked his fingers heady against her tender pussy. "Please fuck you? You want me to fuck you, baby girl?"

She trembled and nodded feverishly. "Please," she opened her eyes the best she could, staring up at him, begging. "Please Dean!"

He chuckled and pulled his hand from her, which made Marceline whine but it caught in her throat when he eased the head of his dick against her. His stubble burned as he raked it up her throat and jaw, which contrasted greatly against the overwhelming ache as he trusted into her. Her fingers reached for his shoulders as his pelvis settled against hers, a soft moan coming from her lips as he pulled out to the end and then sunk deep into her again.

A hand at her hip felt tender as he set his rhythm, her thighs wrapping around his hips and keeping him as close as possible. Marceline moaned and rocked up to meet him when she could, perfectly content to just lay there and moan, groan and tighten her pussy around him because it made him actually moan and fuck if she wasn't gonna enjoy that while it lasted.

Her brow furrowed slightly, barely registering him pulling her hand from his shoulder bur definitely realizing it through the pleasure of his snapping hips. Her eyes fluttered open to slits and she craned her head to the right, staring at their intertwined hands that he pressed into the shaking mattress.

Why was this so strange to her?

Maybe because alongside the manhandling and rough fucking, he would hold her hand and it did something to her.

Then his cock bruised her g-spot and that did something else to her.

Marceline gasped and arched her chest up at the sudden sting of pleasure, jerking again and tightening her hand in his when he did it again. Dean bowed over her and flicked his tongue over one of her nipples, rolling his head on his shoulders and she felt his hips giving an unsteady jerk. One more elegant drag of his cock over that spot had her eyes rolling back in orgasm, the feeling making her coo like a dove. His cock drug over the spot repeatedly, giving her orgasm a quick jolt into another and then another until his thrusts became slow, uncoordinated and she could feel him cumming inside of her.

The room slowly quieted until it was only his soft pants and the wet sound of him peeling his skin from hers.

Marceline opened her eyes weakly, staring at him as he stood above her, fingers flexing at his sides and the half lidded eyes.

She was going to fall in love with this man and she knew it.

"Hows that ass doin, baby girl," by far the strangest thing she had ever been asked.

Marceline blinked a couple of times, watching him walk to the nightstand. "Um. . ." She pulled herself up weakly, arms trembling before she collapsed back into the pillow she had claimed. "It. . .it still hurts," she murmured and wiggled her hips to be sure where the ache settled; yep, still hurt.

He sighed and shrugged, roughly rolling her off to the other side of the bed; she took the pillow with her but she he just grabbed the other. "Need to learn some self control," he sighed and the bed trembled with his sudden weight. "Ah well, you'll just have to deal with the pain if it isn't better by tomorrow - I love me a little grab ass and I was being nice not smacking it while you were asleep."

How chivalrous. . .

"Now get some sleep," he yawned like she imagined a bear would and ensnared her hips with his arm, pulling her tight against him; post-coitus cuddles? He was gonna give her whiplash. "Got plans for you tomorrow. . ."

Marceline trembled and relished the warmth and stickiness of his chest, unable to even question what the plans were. She was too scared to ask after the incident that morning from him after she asked for clothes. He couldn't be all the way there, or maybe this was just the way he acted; the angel certainly seemed to put it that way but. . .

Marceline was still undecided on whether she made the best decision or not.

* * *

 


	4. Chapter 4

She woke up alone.

In that, the sheets were cold and the sun was pelting her in the face, which made her hiss and recoil out of the perfectly placed beam that came between the trees outside. She groaned and buried her face into the sheets, which needed to be washed already and she actually hoped she would get to do that -- the idea was oddly pleasing.

Was needing to do your own laundry a sign of insanity?

When the need to pee became too great, Marceline whimpered and began to arduous task of extracting herself from the bed. Her hips popped and her thighs ache, her pussy tender and slightly bruised from his teeth. She cupped herself as she exited the bathroom, massaging tender, split skin and wondered why she hadn't bled more than a few droplets. . .

Marceline sighed and dropped her hands to her sides, chewing her bottom lip roughly as she pondered what to do. Should she put on clothing? Was she allowed today? She didn't want him to explode on her again, didn't want to be hit or. . .anything else.

"I can hear you up there," his rough voice made Marceline jump and she gave the opening to the stairs a wary look.

She didn't hear anything else, save for the subtle click of him checking the guns and then the growl of a zipper. She looked down at herself but inhaled sharply, padding towards the stairs and making her way down to the first floor. 

He had weapons laid about, some of them taken apart and in the first stages of being cleaned. His broad shoulders were wrapped in dark green, shirt dipping against his spine that she stared at in her approach. When he noticed her getting closer, he looked back over his shoulder and arched an eyebrow at her; Marceline froze on the spot.

He smirked and looked back down at whatever was in his hands, setting it down and turning to face the dark haired girl.

"Damn," he murmured and pulled her by the waist between his legs, perched on the edge of the table. "Am I gonna hate seein this perfect ass covered up by clothes," she hitched up onto her tip toes as he roughly claimed a handful of her ass, grinding her against him. "But, Cas and I have plans for ya, sweetheart."

She didn't get to ask exactly what those plans were because he took her mouth in his, teeth knocking and rendering her helpless. She inhaled deeply through her nose and relaxed against him, his body heat soothing to her cool and aching skin. His tongue brushed over her teeth, touching hers only for a moment before there was a thick rasp at the door and he growled into her mouth.  
Marceline whimpered and clung to him, giving the door a wide-eyed stare of terror. Dean grumbled and roughly pushed her behind him, feeling her chin digging into the back of his arm where she peered around him.

"Open the damn door," Dean snapped, fingers flexing at his sides. 

The door eased open a fraction, Castiel's head peeking into the threshold; Dean sighed. Marceline clenched the back of Dean's shirt, cheeks on fire as she listened to Castiel struggle with his gun before slamming the door shut. Dean chuckled and the sound vibrated against her cheek, making Marceline close her eyes and enjoy something for the moment.

"Dean," Castiel grumbled and shifted awkwardly, watching Marceline's feet shuffle behind Dean. "She is nude, let her put some clothes on."

Dean craned his neck back, smirking before he sighed and grabbed the clothes on the table and held them over his shoulder. Marceline peered up at the clothes, snatching them away; she may have still been dirty, but she was shaking with embarrassment. The room was silent as she tugged on the jeans, having to bite her lip when she found the bra tucked into the flannel. When she was comfortable, she stepped out from behind Dean, still looking down much to his amusement. When she spotted the boots just beneath the table, he kicked them at her; no socks, no problem, she wanted to cover as much of her as possible.

"Now," Dean chirped, causing Marceline to look up at him. "We're gonna go out and take pot shots at some Croats," he grabbed a small gun from the pile on the table, passing it to Marceline. "If you can't shoot for shit, you'll learn today."

"And what am I to do," Castiel questioned, concern lacing that jaw that rocked back and forth. 

"Keep the camp in check," Dean said in an annoyed tone, as if it were obvious. "Just me and her, move faster, easier, quieter," he picked up the assault rifle that nearly matched the angels. "We'll be back by tonight, maybe earlier tomorrow depending on how it goes."

Castiel nodded. "Be careful," his eyes rested on Marceline.  
The warning was for her, he had no doubts about Dean.

She looked up at Dean, only catching the side of his face because he was walking. Marceline gave Castiel a small smile before she followed behind Dean. 

The camp in the daylight was a lot less terrifying than it was at night; no shadows to cling too, no intimidating men lumbering around and leering at her. When they even passed her a glance, while she trailed behind Dean, there wasn't a second one. The women gave her. . .disgusted looks and Marceline's cheeks lit yet again in embarrassment.

They'd all heard her, knew what she was -- what she'd done to get into their camp. She was disgusted enough with herself, why did they have to make it worse with those damn looks.

"Stop fucking staring," Dean snarled and the women turned their noses away, men giving small glared before they shuffled away. "Thought we were past all this, ya know, with the end of the fucking world," Dean grumbled and stopped, wrapping an arm around Marceline's shoulders, pulling her against his side. 

"They hate me," Marceline whispered, cringing when she realized she had said it out loud.

Dean chuckled and let her go as they reached the gates erected in pine. "They hate both of us, babe," he snickered and her eyes went wide, but at the lack of a vehicle on the other side; were they walking?! "The men hate me because I have one fine piece of ass at my beck and call and the women hate you because you are that fine piece of ass," he paused, cradling his rifle like it were a child.

"And yeah, we're walkin. Vehicles always bring too much noise."

"And if the Croats start chasing us," she murmured, pine nettles crackling beneath her shoes. "What then?"

He chuckled and adjusted his grip on his rifle. "Better hope you can fucking run fast."

* * *

There's a scope on his rifle.

And he has her aiming.

"Croats are stupid."

She fires and lets out a shuddering breath as the body snaps, blood spraying over the concrete and the former woman collapses to the concrete.

"All they know is blood," one Croat looks up, snarling loud even from their position leagues away on a roof. "Tear into the flesh," she pulls the trigger again, misses. "Hunt," she reloads the gun, gets ready. "Kill," she fires and hits the target: A child. "And feast for your master."

Marceline swallows thickly and pulls back from the gun, looking down at her knees. Dean lols his head towards her, back against the edge of the building and knee cocked. He blinks slowly as he watches her trembling, mind going to darker places; God, didn't he love when she shook. He sighed loudly though, breaking her trance with each smack of his lips.

"You're gonna have to get over this shit," she looked over at him through her hair. "Ya gotta forget that those things were people, gotta learn how to handle a gun without shaking -"

"I'm not like you," she blurted out and he just watched her. "I-I've never held a gun in my life and today you just. . .you just pushed me until -"

"You just shot two Croats in the head from yards away," Dean craned back to look at blood spattered concrete. "Tryin' to tell me you really have never held a gun before?"

"Not that I know of," she snapped and then slapped a hand over her mouth.

He arched an eyebrow and then shifted his position, snatching away the gun. "I was shootin' like that at eight years old," he cradled the gun in his lap, arm thrown around it. "I didn't get another choice," he looked back up at her. "And you get the same treatment because you are mine," her face dropped. "That's right, you are mine and you don't get a choice but to do what I tell you to - and you did what I said today so maybe you aren't as stupid as I thought you were," he paused and chuckled. "Or maybe you're dumber," he sighed and rocked up to his feet. "Lets go, maybe we can make it out of the city before sun down."

Marceline swallowed thickly and stood, scrambling after him when she heard the distant screech of one of the Croats discovering the bodies.

"You'll stay inside tonight," Dean murmured as he shut the door to the stairwell behind them, flashlight in hand. "There's supposed to be a burning tonight, for the bodies we can't bury and I don't want anyone to see you there."

"Why not," she murmured, following close behind him.

"Because you aren't one of us," the words hurt so much. "Its for those of us that actually lost people."

Marceline nodded against his back and then squinted against the sun when he opened the door. He held it as she slipped out, head swiveling right and left, looking for Croats. Marceline didn't care about them, she was more worried about the humans, even if she had Dean with her. Humans were why she gave herself to him in the first place, humans were her biggest fear - she wasn't even worried about Lucifer.

"Cas is gonna watch you though," Dean broke through her mental worrying.

Marceline looked over at him, but he was slightly ahead of her so she didn't get to make eye contact. "But. . .he's one of you," she murmured. "Shouldn't he be there?"

Dean spared her a glance but shook his head and looked forward again. "Cas doesn't have anyone but me," his words were still bitter. "And that's even questionable," he murmured. "But he wouldn't go anyway, says he can hear their souls and shit, whatever."

Marceline almost sighed but knew better, instead pulling her gun out when the distant cackle of bullets echoed off of the buildings around them. She hates the city, had loved it before but now all of the Croats inhabited the cities and bandits were around every corner. They seemed to disappear with Dean though, they had yet to see even a glimpse of actual humans all day.

"I want you out of those clothes while I'm gone," and there it is, the break of silence. "Wear a sheet with Cas around but I don't want to have to go through the trouble of clothes when I get in. You were just so God damn perfect last night."

Marceline shook her head as they crossed over a small bridge, her eyes stretching over the miles of cars paused in time on the highway out of the city. She paused for a moment, remembering where her car was in this strip and wondering if any of her things were still inside; probably not.

"What are you doing," she jumped and looked over at Dean, who was on the edge of the park and impatient. "Come on, I'll leave you for the Croats if you stop again."

She jumped again and jogged to catch up with him, heart hammering in her chest. The grass crunched softly beneath their feet, the sky growing overcast above them. The world did that now, turned depressing at a set time in the day; did that have something to do with the Devil?

"We need to find a new camp," Dean murmured and Marceline kept quiet; he sounded more like he was talking to himself. "Too damn close to the city."

Marceline hesitated. "I think its in a fine spot," she watched his back tense but he never faltered in his step. "The river helps. . .and there is only one way in. . .high walls. . ."

"Did I ask for your opinion," he snapped over his shoulder.

Marceline ducked her head. "No sir. . ."

* * *

He's gone the moment they enter the camp and Marceline is more than relieved to see Castiel approaching her. His eyes are slightly hazy and she has an idea of what he's on judging by the skunky smell and has this hankering she hasn't had in years.

"How did you do," Castiel asks in that kind voice of his, gripping her upper arm.

Marceline looked around at the scowls and glares she was receiving before she ducked her head. "I can uh. . .I can shoot a rifle," she murmured and pushed her hair back. "But I can't shoot a hand gun for shit."

Castiel chuckled and his own rifle thumped against his side. "That's sadly the same for quite a few around camp, don't be so sullen about it."

Marceline huffed but didn't say anymore, letting him guide her like a rag doll. She had to. . .she had to sit naked with him for who-knows how long. She didn't want to know what would happen if Dean came in and she was still wearing clothes, how was she going to manage this? She was so embarrassed and honestly terrified when Castiel came in for a moment with her under a sheet, how was she going to manage maybe hours?

"How long do these. . .burnings usually last," Marceline asked as Castiel gently pushed her into the cabin.

Castiel shrugged as he shut the door, watching her set her gun down on the table and making a bee line for the stairs. "Two. . .three hours maybe. . .where are you going?"

Marceline jumped and looked back at Castiel with red cheeks. "I. . .Dean told me to be naked whenever he came back. . .I'm supposed to wear a sheet around you."

He frowned but she continued up the stairs. "I do not know when Dean got so barbaric," Castiel spoke so she could hear, pacing towards the window. "Dean had always. . .enjoyed the company of a woman. But he was never rough with them, never spoke to them like they were dogs to heel to a command," he sighed and looked over when he heard the creak of the stairs. "I have said it before, but I apologize for Dean's behavior."

Marceline brushed her hair back, holding the sheet together tight around her chest. "Its okay," she murmured. "I. . .Its the price I paid, losing everything, for safety from being killed or starving to death. . .being ripped apart by Croats," she inhaled deeply. "He's not. . .he doesn't punch me, doesn't hurt me any harder than a. . .slap on the ass," she looked down at her hand; she wouldn't share his tenderness. "But no. . .he isn't nice, but I can deal with it," she looked over at Castiel. "I'm sorry you have to babysit me."

Castiel shook his head and sighed into the couch. "The burnings have never been my favorite thing," he murmured. "They are a. . .Hunter's funeral. They have all become Hunters because of what is happening."

Marceline exhaled slowly, pacing in a small circle. "I'm probably going to lose my mind here," she didn't mean to say that. . .too late to take it back. "Maybe because of Dean, maybe because of. . .everything. . .I don't even know anymore."

"I cringe at the day you will finally be allowed out to the camp on your own," Castiel murmured. "They've all been talking about 'Dean's Whore'," when Marceline paled, he gave her a sympathetic look. "I believe it is all out of jealousy, from all sides."

"That's what Dean tried to feed me," she whispered, pausing to chew on her lip. "I'm tired," she looked up at Castiel. "I. . .I think I'm going to go lie down."

He sighed and smiles. "I'll be down here," he shook his head as Marceline trudged up the stairs. "I don't know why though."

Marceline didn't say anything, she just climbed up the stairs and fell into the bed, not even moved by the stale smell of sex. It was. . .too cold, in these sheets she clenched between her fingers. She actually wanted Dean there, she wanted him there to just warm up the sheets. . .or so she told herself.

"I like the son of a bitch," she murmured and buried her face into the mattress. "I. . .I fucking like him. . ."

* * *

"Out of the fucking house!"

She'd rather wake up to a Croat in the cabin.

Marceline isn't jarred awake, really, she was only half asleep, fiddling with the photos in his nightstand when she heard the front door slam open. . .or shut, whatever.

She sits up abruptly, sheet pooling around her waist as she hesitates on what to do with the photos spread over the sheets. She hears him, hears him stomping around downstairs, cussing up a storm and throwing something around.

"Dean -"

"I said get the fuck out, Cas," Dean rumbles in a warning tone and there's the soft click of the front door.

Marceline's heart jumps into her throat when she hears the rattle of the stairs, eyes wide and unblinking on him when he comes to a stop in front of her. His nostrils flare and his fingers are flexing at his sides, eyes flickering to the photos and she cringes, looks down in fear.

"What the fuck did you think you were doing," he snarls.

"I-I didn't -" she looked back up again, terrified by his trembling. "Please, I didn't mean anything -"

He doesn't strike her, but he looks like he wants to with the look he silences her with.

Marceline swallows thickly and her eyes move down him, biting her lip as she focuses on the buckle of his jeans. She tugs her bottom lip inwards as she spread her legs, eyes moving back up to his, her hand brushing aside the sheets to expose her wet pussy to him; there goes another nostril flare.

"I did what you said. . ." She whispered, fingers skimming the edges of her lips; she trembles, not out of fear this time.

His eyes are hooded now, watching her fingers stroking between her thighs, the cave in of her chest with a deep, shuddering breath. Her eyes flutter close, cheeks hot as she leans back slightly, allowing him more to view as her fingers dig in. A long moan draws between her lips and her hips buck forward, thumb circling her clit like she wants his to do. She what's him to touch her like this, actually wants what he has to offer - because she fucking likes it and she knows it.

Her bare chest heaves up towards him, her fingers working through the gathering wetness that's obvious to his hungry eyes. She runs a finger down through the slick and goes back to her clit, releasing an airy moan as she rolls her head on her shoulders.

"Fuck," she hears him murmur and the rattle of his buckle, the drop of pants. "Keep that up baby, put on a show for me."

The next moan comes as a surprise to her at the words, her hand faltering but she catches herself before he says anything; maybe she could have went with a better distraction tactic. She didn't want to get hit, knew that's what would have come if she didn't distract him - and this was the surest way.

She feels his breath first, tongue second and it sends a jolt through her. She whimpers when his tongue brushes between her folds, nose bumping into her knuckles as he commands her to continue her clits torture. She squeezes her eyes and rolls her hips up off of the mattress, against him, begging for more with a silent gesture. His hands move down her thighs to her ass, pulling her hard against his velvet ministrations.

She bucks up against his mouth when he noses her fingers to the side, his tongue rubbing against her clit and causing her to moan again. Her fingers tighten in his hair, her body on fire; she pulls her heel up to the side of the bed, opening herself more for him.

"I love the way you taste," he murmurs as she cums in a weak orgasm, her arm unable to hold her any long and she collapses into the mattress. "Love the way you look when you cum," he licks his already shiny lips as he climbs up her body. "But I love the way you feel around me even more."

He fills her in one, easy stroke and her chest arches off of the bed without the warning. There's a slight twinge of pain as she clenches around his cock, he seems to enjoy the tension with the groan he gives to her lips before capturing them with his. Her eyes close as she tries to relax into his rough kiss, his hands grabbing her thighs and pulling them taught around his hips.

He pulls from her slowly, but thrusts back in hard enough for her to feel it in her bones; she grunts. His hips rolls against hers and Marceline creases her brow when his hand finds hers like it does, pressing hers into the mattress.

She loves it, even with him hurting her with each thrust of his hips, contrasting so harshly with growing pleasure from the friction - him holding her hand keeps her. . .together, just a little bit. Makes things a little easier.

"Fuck do that again," he growls when she squeezed his cock with a pass over her g-spot; she moans into his ear. "Like that, baby girl? Like me fucking you like this?"

"Yes, Dean," she whimpers and cries out when his fingers find her clit, roll it against one of his callouses. "O-Oh! Dean i-it feels so good," she grabs his shoulder with one hand, the sheets with the other. "F-Fuck Dean! I'm gonna -"

"Cum for me, baby girl," he murmurs into her ear, her breasts rubbing up against his cheat aa he thrusts into her, fingers slippery against her slit. "That's it, cum for me. . .oh fuck. . .cum for me, come on. . ."

Her stomach clenches, the pleasure growing and growing, getting tight in her belly and making her cling to him like her life depends on it. She can hear him stroking in and out of her, the wet sounds turning her on even more. Heat crawls up her spine, bursting across her neck and chest as she cums - hard.

"Dean!" She throws her head back, grinding her pelvis up hard against his.

Her thighs wrap tight around his hips, making it nearly impossible for him to keep his thrusts even with the way her pussy held him in a vice. His fingers tightened almost painfully around her hand, giving a small gasp as she panted and went limp around him. Her thighs hung off the edge of the bed, her eyes hooded on the ceiling as he panted above her.

She ran her tongue over her bottom lip as he pressed his forehead against her chest. "Dean," she whispered and he grunted. "Should. . .should I be scared of you?"

There was a long pause, his lips twisting against her skin. "Yeah. . .yeah, you should be scared of me," he murmured. "If you ever go against me. . .I'll kill you, Marceline."

Her heart stuttered.

Marceline bit her lip, but only for a split second. She reached up and grasped the back of his head, hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her, pressing his lips against hers at her beckoning.


	5. Chapter 5

She won't keep up with the days, the passage of time. He doesn't leave her a lot and that means frequent fucking wherever and whenever he likes; her back hurts, hair roots are still tender. When he does leave, he's gone for too long and she actually want's him back. She wants to feel him near her, the safety and insanity he provides, but she knows its always short lived on either side of his erratic spectrum.

She gets paranoid easily, being stuck alone in camp, watching people through the dark blinds made to resemble wood. When they noticed her, she snaps the blinds closed and wanders about the house. She doesn't go through his things anymore, doesn't want him to explode on her. But she wants to see that little boy again, the happy one, wants to see the one he has to call brother.

He says his name in his sleep.

She'll wake up, or still be up depending on how many aches and pains he leaves her with before he sleeps so peacefully, and he'll be begging for that name.

 _Sam_.

It'll be a hushed whisper or a pained one, an accusing one, a begging one.

It almost hurts, to hear him sound so damn small when he was usually the barbarian trooping around the camp.

And she watches him out there too. Never gets allowed out, but she watches him going all alpha on anyone doing something stupid, when he's giving his little addresses before he leaves camp.

And she sees them.

The women, the ones that give him hungry looks.

She shouldn't care, because he doesn't give them those looks back and he promises her in his own way that he doesn't even think of them.

And she shouldn't be jealous, because he's not her lover and he's certainly not a boyfriend, a love interest. He's her owner, a tyrant, but she can't help but feel possessive over him.

She needed to get out.

 _He_ is, today, out hunting this thing called the Colt while she and Cas sit in the cabin; she's cooking for the both of them, thankful Dean finally got the hint she needed food in the cabin. The situation is so frequent Cas even hums now, reading a book Marceline can't even comprehend because its in another language. He's been at this thing for days, he's even completely sober where as she noticed the drug use was becoming a frequent visitor to his heavy head.

"Is uh. . ." She hesitated, turning around with a rusty spoon in hand. "Is that. . .a good book?"

Castiel chuckled and Marceline blushed, turning back to the pot. "No, but its very important so reading it is. . .a pleasant chore," his eyes flickered over her back; he could see the bruises itching up her throat. "I thought he was being more gentle."

Marceline tensed but shook her head. "Um. . .no, not really," she whispered, but he could hear her. "I thought he was but he seemed to notice too and. . ." She scrunched up her face and looked back at him. "Can we just. . .not talk about him? Or rather. . .our pathetic sex life?"

Cas nodded softly, straightening himself on the couch as she clicked off the stove. "You did not have to do this," he assured her.

Marceline smiled softly and set out two bowls. "It would have been rude to not offer you something," crappy, throw together soup but it was better than nothing. "And its not exactly gourmet."

He hummed softly as she held out his bowl to him, amusing her as she watched an actual angel get excited over soup. "Nutrition is a foreign thing to handle," he murmured. "I have never had to worry about it before. . ." He flexed his fingers in front of his face. "It would seem my grace is leaving me faster and faster each day."

Marceline frowned, chewing softly before she spoke. "You're not. . .not going to die, are you?"

He shook his head immediately and dropped his hand. "No, I will just be as human as you or Dean soon enough."

"I don't think he qualifies as human some days," she sighed softly to herself. "I wanted to get my stuff the other day. . .but I was afraid to ask him."

"Where are your possessions?"

Marceline shook her head. "Out on the highway, where everyone else left their stuff. But I doubt anything is left. So I just. . .let it go or whatever," she sighed and stirred her food. "Not like he'd take me. . ."

"Perhaps I -"

"No," she said firmly - or, she tried to sound firm, in truth her voice shook at the thought Dean could hear them somehow. "Its fine, really, it doesn't matter at all. Its foolish to think even a scrap of paper survived with all of that looting and shit."

Castiel seemed to deflate and sulk into his food, which made Marceline frown but she didn't say anything else. She wouldn't get him in trouble, and she also didn't want to face Dean's wraths should he get wind of whatever Castiel could come up with. She wouldn't be responsible for that cluster fuck, she could barely manage her own. But she did feel bad for making Castiel look so sullen, he looked like she had cussed him out or kicked a puppy in front of him.

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," she finally murmured, setting down her empty bowl.

Castiel gave her a confused look. "You did nothing wrong," he paused. "I was just remembering Dean's apparent need to keep you hold up in this little cabin at all times. . .people ask about you, most of the words are not kind."

"I don't care about them," she snapped, but not at him. "There are more important things to worry about than gossip."

"That is true," Castiel cleared his throat and set his bowl down, straightening himself. "We have a scavenging team to put together this week and Dean has decided to bring you with us. He says you are quite talented with a rifle."

"But. . . _why_ ," she shook her head. "Why does he want to bring _me_. . .just because I can _shoot?_ That doesn't. . .but he won't let me out to eat with anyone? I can't even wash my damn clothes!"

"Oh sweetie," _fuck._ "You just want me to snap, don't you?"

Marceline looked over at Dean in what could only be described as terror, her hands shaking but he looked amused, not angry. She didn't breathe a sigh of relief though, she couldn't make herself move when though her muscles begged for her to fucking _run._

He leaned his rifle against the wall beside the door and stretched his arms over his head, striding past them in a calm manner. Castiel gave Marceline a confused look and then cleared his throat, standing from his seat on the couch; Marceline jumped to her feet, hands clasped in front of her.

"Don't leave me yet," she pleaded in a barely audible whisper.

"He will not hurt you," Cas said in a tone so soothing, Marceline almost believed him. "Survive the night, our trip starts tomorrow."

Marceline sighed as Castiel brushed past her, headed for the door. She gave his retreating figure a desperate look before she gave in and grabbed their bowls, shuffling towards the sink. It took her maybe ten seconds with her frantic scrubbing in freezing cold water, but she had them cleaned and Dean was still nowhere to be found. She leaned back against the counter, knuckles white on the edge; she could hear the pipes rattle, he was in the shower.

She chewed softly on her bottom lip and pushed off of the counter, shuffling towards the stairs. His grimy clothes were scattered around the door, she could hear his cussing about the cold water inside the bathroom. She sighed, pulling her shirt over her shoulder and tossing it onto the floor, her fingers picking at the buckle of her jeans.

And then she sits on the edge of the bed like a good girl, staring at her toes and waiting. She wasn't so much reluctant to do so as she was concerned about how she was. . .decidedly turned on.

Yes she was a bit reluctant, but waiting for him, knowing what he could do - it turned her on.

_I am so incredibly fucked. . .and not even literally, yet._

Maybe Cas was right, maybe Dean would be kinder, maybe he wouldn't hurt her because of her stupid outburst. She should have been more careful, should be grateful that he even held up his end of her dumb ass bargain with her life. He was keeping her safe, he wasn't using her however he wanted even though she had already given him the option. She had it nice, she had it cushy, she shouldn't complain one damn bit.

She wouldn't, not from this moment -

She jumped whenever there was a touch on her knee, her eyes flying up to Dean's. No fight when he spread her legs, situating himself between them on his knees. She trembled once as he gripped her hips, pulling her just a little closer to him; was it possible, she found that yes she could get closer.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, heat slowly building on the back of her neck. "For. . .for what I said -"

"I don't give a fuck," he said it simply, like he were discussing the weather and not further scaring the shit out of her. "You're coming on the road with us, we'll be gone a couple of nights," his fingers ran up her slit, making her fingers clench in the sheets. "So no fucking until we get back, don't need those assholes lookin at you like that."

"I don't want to go," she pleaded softly, whimpering when he pressed his face against her stomach. "I-I wanna stay here."

"Too bad baby girl," his breath burst against her thigh, chilled other places. "I need another gun I can trust with me, they all keep lookin at me like I've lost it."

She didn't make a comment.

Instead, Marceline reached up and threaded her fingers through his damp hair; even then, it felt great between her fingers. He hummed slightly, nuzzling deeper into her skin, nipping at heat the area in reach; she jerked at the first, the second, relaxed when they became lazy, awkwardly spaced bites. She didn't quite understand Dean, because now he was just as sweet and tender as she imagined he could manage. He wasn't bending her over the bed or growling at her, just tenderly wrapping himself around her, vocalizing his pleasure with her petting by humming every now and again.

He had to know what he was doing to her.

Making her care about him, want him, love him. She would rather him use her however he wanted because at least then she wouldn't be confused, would know her duties for life were being met.

" _Ah_ ," she jerked beneath his tongue, found it nosing its way towards her slit. "Dean please -"

"Nuh uh," his eyes flickered up towards hers, watching her arch as he prodded her clit. "You're practically drippin baby, don't even try."

And she didn't, her vocal protests fell where they started and she spread her thighs, eyes closing tightly as he cleared a trail between her tender lips. Her fingers tightened where they stilled in his hair, pulling tenderly at the roots when he flicked his tongue over her clit. His hands spread her thighs, one easing in to stroke and probe her opening.

"Don' know how I'm gonna go days without doin this," his words sent light vibrations through her and Marceline groaned, bucking her hips up towards his mouth. "But waiting always makes it better in my experience."

Every idea she had about him vanished for the moment, took a temporary leave and all she wanted was for him to touch her just the way he was. He was very good at what he was doing after all.

"Tell me," she whined when he spoke again, because his lips were so close, teasing sensitive skin. "Do you regret the deal? Well, I mean, that's obvious that you do and its understandable, and I don't care but is it really that bad? You're alive. . .you're well fed obviously," okay, now the blushing wasn't just because of her arousal. "But all I see is you looking so sour, pouting, bitching to Cas. And I wouldn't bitch to him, he can just get you into a whole new world of shit with me believe it."

Oddly, she did.

"Here's the thing," she twitched when the mattress sinks around her, her eyes watching him as he climbed up her body with those intimidating green eyes. "You're gonna have to start beggin for the shit, and I don't mean with little things like you fingering yourself for me, although that was a pretty good little move."

"Dean -"

"Let me talk, bitch," she would have rathered him have snarled it at her, not speak with such playfulness behind angry eyes. "You're gonna start doin just as I said, I think I've let you get way too cushy here. Layin up all the time, too many orgasms for such a bad little girl."

_Chills._

_Chills like a motherfucker._

"Now, don't get me wrong, I love watching you cum. You make all these fun little noises, squeeze my cock so well. . .but that's just giving you a reward for being bad."

"Dean," she squirmed a little, feeling him stroking between her thighs softly. "J-Just. . .please don't. . .humiliate me."

"Oh sweetheart," he reached up, wet fingers pushing hair from her face. "I'll do whatever I want to, to you and you'll like it, got me?"

She hesitated but nodded softly. "Yes. . ."

"Yes what?"

She swallowed thickly. "Yes, sir," her voice was so soft, she was afraid he would make her speak louder.

But he hummed, a pleased smile on his face. "Good girl," her breath hitched in her throat as he roughly thrust two fingers into her. "What? Don't act so surprised, I planned on fuckin you and you know that."

She didn't really care about what he was saying, she could only feel him and it blocked out any other focus. It hurt, but he had already built her up so easily, she fell just as hard. She gripped his wrist, she gripped his shoulder, her head rolling back and her chest arching up against him. She liked feeling that cold skin against hers; God she was so fucked in the head because she didn't even care about whether he made her beg or not, because she wanted it.

"Dean," she whimpered against the rough skin of his shoulder, her hips trying to wiggle back away from his reach but he just followed with a smirk against her throat. "D-Dean its starting to h-hurt," she whined.

"Oh baby girl," he whispered into her ear, leaving rough bites up her throat. "You think _that_ hurts. . ."

"De -"

"What the fuck did I say," he growled against the shell of her ear.

Marceline trembled, twisting this way and that, trying to pull away from him. Her skin was on fire, her pussy tender and almost sore from his rough fingering. But his thumb was working on her clit and quick jolts of pleasure were starting to hit her again.

She looked down when he pulled his fingers from her dripping sex, eyes flickering up to his when he placed the wet hand against her hip. His face was so placid, serene, she didn't want to know what he wanted next. She flinched away from his hand when he raised it to her face, but he followed and brushed back the hair sticking to her sweaty forehead. His lips pressed against that wet skin, cool breath billowing out through his nose before he spoke.

"I want you to beg," he whispered against her skin, moving down with his eyes so close. "I want you to beg for this cock, okay? And you better put on quite the show because if you're not convincing. . ." He smiled softly. "I'll fuck that pretty little mouth of yours. . .and you won't like that one bit."

Her eyes only widened a fraction, considering she had already expected this. "O-Okay," she whispered. "I-I mean y-yes sir. . ."

His smile turned just a little more towards a pleased smirk. "Good girl," he pressed a quick kiss to her lips. "Now. . .I want you to start now, m'kay?"

"Yes sir," humiliation heated her cheeks.

Dean smirked against her chin and she held her breath as he started to move down her chest, his kisses hot and wet. He nuzzled the pliable flesh of her right breast, his tongue running over her nipple and she arched into his mouth.

"Dean," she moaned, her fingers threading into his hair.

He cupped her other breast in his hand, squeezing it roughly, his thumb stroking against the tender peek as he rolled the other between his teeth. She could feel that traitor between her thighs getting warmer, aching for him. He bit down roughly on her nipple and she thrust her chest harder into his mouth.

"D-Dean!" She squeezed her thighs together, her hips rocking side to side. "Dean please! I-It hurts!"

"Oh baby," he murmured, grabbing her hips and pulling her pussy just that bit closer to his talented mouth. "Just like that. . ."

Marceline bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut, thighs trembling around his head in honest fear of what he would do. She was still bruised down there from his harsh biting, maybe he would get mad if she didn't beg for this and do it again.

But he didn't do anything.

She opened her eyes slowly, looking down between her thighs and to Dean's placid glance. She wiggled her hips a little and he had that hint of mischievousness in his eyes when he brushed his lips softly against hers.

"Dean," she whispered in a questioning tone, voice slightly husky.

Chills climbed her skin as he breathed slowly against her hot, aching pussy. He cocked his head softly when she whined low in her throat when he blew over her again, his hands slowly spreading her thighs.

"D-Dean," she winced as the muscles in her thighs stretched with his forcefulness, spreading her open to him until her cheeks were a bright red even in the dying light. "Dean please, please. . ."

"Please _what,_ " he questioned, his tongue dancing close enough to her skin for it to tickle. "Come on baby girl, tell me what you want."

"P-Please lick. . ." She took a breath. "Pl-Please lick my pussy," she sounded more like she was whining about chores.

He chuckled low in his throat. "I don't know if that was convincing enough, doll."

She whined for real this time, her hips jerking up. "Dean please," she fisted a hand in the sheets. "Its starting to _hurt. . ._ "

"You have to tell me what to do, baby," _dear lord. . ._

Marceline swallowed thickly. "Please lick my pussy, Dean," she bucked her hips up towards his mouth but he moved that precious inch back. "Please Dean, make me cum! Please Dean just fucking eat me! Bite me, lick me - j-just _please_ ," her voice trailed off into a desperate whine.

He hummed softly, definitely amused at the way she twisted and tried to avoid eye contact. Her thighs continued to tremble and jump; she needed him, she needed him to just touch her a little more. Even though she hurt, she needed him to make her cum again, if it was just. . .one more time.

Marceline's chest expanded with a heavy breath as his tongue curled between her thighs, brushing over her core and clit. She released a heavy moan and let her head roll to the side, her lips parting silently as he ran his tongue slowly in circles around her clit. His tongue thrust into her, her muscles jumping at the wage of pleasure that ran over her.

"Dean," she cooed, tightening a hand in his hair, hard. "Y-You're so. . .so good at this. . ."

"I know baby girl," he thrust two fingers back into her, albeit a tad more gently. "Just worry bout gettin there. . ."

She hated him.

"I-I think 'm close," she whispered, her back arching slightly as her eyes rolled back into her head. "D-Dean please. . .I want you to fuck me, Dean. Please, I need you to. . .to. . ."

"No need ta tell me twice," she could almost hear the smirk, felt his wet lips against hers before she even noticed he had moved. "Next time, you're gonna have to perform for me a little bit to get that orgasm," her skin burned where he kissed her. "Ready for me baby?"

Her breath hitched as he ran his cock against her tender pussy, a soft mewl coming from her lips. "I need you, Dean," she whispered, raking her hand back through his hair, lingering on the back of his neck; his eyes were so green. "I need you to. . ." She hesitated and then changed her mind. "I need you to fuck me Dean," her muscles clenched around him as he thrust into her.

Her fingers untangled from the sheet, choosing to tighten with his hand before he did it as he always did. He didn't even seem to notice, instead focusing on those hard thrusts that had her breath quickening. It still hurt, but she was already close, so close, she could bear it just. . .just a little longer.

Marceline panted and rolled her head back, her hips meeting his hard thrusts. Her nails begged to dig into his scarred skin, take angry red lines down his arms, but when she tried to out pressure her body went slack and could only seen to focus on that peek getting inevitably closer to her reach.

"Harder," she begged, her hips bucking desperately against his. "Dean, harder!"

She'd thought she said something wrong when he let her hand go, his chest almost literally peeling off of hers. She looked up between her breasts, watching him grab himself and look at her with urgent, lust filled eyes.

"Get on on your fucking hands and knees," he ordered.

Marceline trembled and complied, feeling the bed shift as he maneuvered himself against her. He grabbed her hips and dug his fingers of his right hand into her hip, his left hand leaving her skin. She knew where it was, but it was still unexpected when he thrust into her.

Marceline yelped at the feeling of her pussy being stretched deeper, pounded and stretched. He hurt her, each hard thrust of his hips drove her to an even more intense excitement though. Her hands tightened in the sheets as her eyes closed, head sinking down as she raised her ass up to him like the good bitch she was. She wanted it, wanted to feel him fucking her wet pussy, stretching her tightly around its thick girth. He was rough and it felt amazing, which made her hate herself just a little bit more but her orgasm was fast approach again and she wouldn't dare protest.

"F-Fuck. . . _ngh, fuck_ , Dean. . ." Marceline whimpered, her thighs trembling. "I'm gonna cum," she met his thrust harder, if it were possible. "Fuck, D-Dean!"

Dean grunted as she came, her pussy squeezing his dick, trying to pull him over the edge but he wasn't ready. He pulled her hips back against his, her walls tightening again as she moaned and twitched, cumming again.

His ego inflated a little more.

After the third orgasm, he couldn't hold out any longer, feeling the knot tightening beneath his skin as she screamed out his name. Windows open, breeze rolling in, Marceline definitely could see herself no longer caring if they all knew who he was fucking.

So long as no one else touched him.

Marceline twitched and slowly sank down towards the mattress, her chest heaving as Dean scrambled around her still-raised hips. He grabbed them to bruise and slammed her back against his still hips, a groan coming from him as he came.

"Damn you're a good fuck," he muttered as he lay beside her, an arm thrown over his face. "At least ya got somethin going for you."

Marceline almost sighed, settled for throwing an arm over his chest. He twisted his head a little, staring at her through hooded eyes. Marceline blinked slowly, nuzzling her face against the sheets a little because she was crying. His jaw rocked back and forth a little, his eyes disappearing against his arm again and Marceline rolled away from him, towards the edge of the bed. She tucked her hands against the side of her face and curled her legs up a little.

_Stupid. . .stupid, stupid, stupid. . ._

"Get some sleep," the bed shifted behind her, dipped. "I meant it when I said I want you with the team."

Marceline ground her teeth. "I. . I gave myself to you so I didn't have to fight," she whispered. "So I could live and. . .you want me to go out there and risk my life?"

"You said anything I wanted," he said, but he didn't sound angry at all. "You're here to please me, and what pleases me aside from that tight cunt of yours is for someone I can trust at my back."

"You. . .you trust me?"

"I sleep with ya, don't I," he paused. "Don't think too hard on it girl, I just know you don't have the balls to shoot me."

"But I don't wanna be shot," she hissed in a near sob. "I-I don't wanna be torn apart!"

"I'm gonna be there," he said slowly, like she was dumb. "Nothings gonna happen to you."

"But you don't know that," she whispered.

"This is over," his voice changed, lowered; he was getting mad. "Get some fucking sleep."

Marceline sighed in defeat, reaching back blindly for something to cover herself with, only managing to grab enough of the blanket to cover her ass.

She wouldn't talk him out of this.

* * *

"I highly recommend _not_ doing this."

"Cas, we don't have time for this shit."

"But Dean -"

Dean slammed his hand down on the table and Marceline jumped, her teeth grinding together. Cas hesitates, his hand still hovering over one of the tattoos that was pulsing in mild discomfort; whether it was a reaction to his touch, or just being a dick, she couldn't tell.

"We do not have the time," he growled. "We have to hurry before they move. Now, get your gun, and you," he pointed at Marceline. "Get your gun and get in the back of the fucking truck."

He jerked back really fast and Marceline jumped, biting her lip as she watched Dean stomp out of the cabin. She looked back over at Cas, who was shaking his head in mild disapointment.

"What's wrong," she whispered.

He looked over at her. "Something feels off with the markings than they had when you first came to us. . .I do not like the feeling."

"I don't think he really cares," she wiggled off of the table he had her sitting on. "Lets just. . .get this over with."

Cas nodded and followed close at her side, his fingers tight on the strap over his shoulder. When she stepped outside, Marceline almost smiled, but she just shielded her eyes. But he knew she was happy to be outside, he could see her fingers trembling. She looked around at the alien faces and very few paid her any attention, those that did quickly looked away. The only ones to really look at her were already near the idling vehicles; they didn't look happy. Marceline jumped when she felt the rough fabric of Cas' jacket rub against her arm; he gave her an encouraging, small smile.

"They're not happy I'm going," she murmured.

Cas nodded. "They believe you are unfit for a fight, Dean took the blame for that."

"He what?"

"He blamed himself for keeping you in the bedroom and not fighting, he tried to convince them you were not useless. . ."

"I doubt all of that is true," she mumbled, fingertips dancing over the handle of the gun tucked into the back of her jeans. "But it doesn't matter, he already told me I don't have a choice in this so I don't have to try and make nice with anyone," she paused. "Pretty sure he'll just lock me back up in there when we get back. . .if we get back."

She tagged names, men and women, a group of ten, and sat with Cas in the back of the truck, her legs spread out in front of her. Dean seemed to busy arguing with a bald man over what direction to take on the map; how was he able to not run into a tree driving like this? Marceline and Cas bounced around in the back, her fingers raking down her thigh.

The marks were beginning to itch horribly, which was more of a concern than her dying; it could end up as something much worse. Her mind picked through them, back to the men that had forced them on her skin. They had spoke in a weird language, had this manic look about them as they tied her down so firmly she had barely been able to move. She had been so sure they were prepared to rape her, with the ties and the fact that they had stripped her clean. There had been one to bathe her in freezing cold water, make sure she was squeaky clean and then they had pulled out a crude set to ink her skin.

She _hated_ them.

She had been confused immensely when they just snapped the ties and made a break for it, leaving no trace of themselves behind; they had even washed her clothes.

Marceline had seen Cas reading on a book with at least one of the patterns on the cover, but when she asked about it he would just tell her it was idle reading and go about his business.

She didn't want to push the only soul kind to her.

Speaking of him. . .

She looked down at the hand he had taken and squeezed, seeing a reassuring, wide eyed smile on his face. "You will do fine, Marceline," he let her hand go and she smiled. "Dean and I, we will keep you safe. He does not want you to be a slave forever."

Madeline furrowed her brow. "Wh. . .What?"

"He is giving you a chance," he said it so close to her ear she got a chill. "Fight, or stay a slave. He wants you to fight for it."

Marceline kept her brow furrowed as he pulled away, a weird little smile on his face. She hesitated and twisted her head a little, looking at Dean's angry griping in the rearview mirror. She pursed her lips slightly and readjusted her seating, shaking her head as she watched the trees pass by.

Cas had to be high.


End file.
